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JOLLY OLD SHADOW MAN 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



and particularly to those who find it hard 
to make their little tempers behave ' 

but DO 




JOLLY OLD 
SHADOW MAN 


C Written and illustrated by 

GERTRUDE ALICE 


PUBLISHED BV 

P F.VOLLAND COMPANY 

NEW/ YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 


Ls 



Copyright 1920 
P. F. Volland Company 
Chicago, U. S. A. 

(All rights reserved.) 
Copyright, Great Britain, 1920 


% 


©CU566403 



Sfre JOLLY OLD 
SHADOW MAN 


The Boy was in bed. He didn’t like being 
there, but he couldn’t help it. His Grandmother 
had led him up the winding stairway and into 
the big guest chamber long before the little hand 
of the clock had got around to eight. Even now, 
though it seemed he’d been in bed for ages, he 
could see narrow bars of light shining through 
the shutters, so he knew it was still much too 
early for such a big Boy to have gone to bed. 


Still, the Boy knew that in one way he be- 
longed there. He really hadn’t deserved to sit 
up that evening. You see, he was visiting at 
his Grandmother’s big house while his father 
and mother were away on a long journey. And 
he really hadn’t behaved as he knew they’d 
have liked to have him. Maybe if his Fathet 
and Mother had been at home he wouldn’t 
have acted as he had acted all day long. 

On the way upstairs his Grandmother had 
told him that she wanted him to think of every 
thing he’d done that day. He had done a good 
many things, of course, but he knew which things 
Grandmother wanted him to think of. He knew 
she meant the way he’d scolded about the suit 
she’d put on him that morning, and of how dis- 
contented and. ungrateful he’d been at table, 





NH 





and of how he’d annoyed the cook and finally 
stuck out his tongue at her, oh! so rudely. Oh, 
yes, he knew what Father would have said about 
him — that he hadn’t acted as a gentleman should ! 

The Boy didn’t want to think about these 



things, but he had to. He was all alone, with 
nothing to interest or entertain him. Grand- 
mother had gone downstairs, and he had only the 
candle on the little table near the bed for com- 
pany. The candle burned brightly, so he could 
see all about the room, and by and by, as he 
twisted and turned — it’s not pleasant, you know, 
to be alone with a guilty conscience! — he saw 
a strange shadow on the wall. 

The shadow looked like the shadow of a little 
old man with a high hat and a hump on his back. 
It looked very real, and the Boy looked at it 
for a long time. 

“Go away!” he said, at last. “Go away this 
minute!” 

“I can’t!” said The Jolly Old Shadow-Man. 
“You won’t let me.” 


“I’m not keeping you,” said the Boy, as 
angrily as anything. “I want you to go away!” 

“But you are keeping me,” The Jolly Old 
Shadow-Man answered, “for as long as you leave 
your clothes in that untidy pile on the chair over 
there, with the candle-light behind it, I’m bound 
to be this shadow on the wall.” 

Sure enough, that was how it had happened. 
The Boy could see it himself — one sleeve, stand- 
ing up queerly, was the hat, his shirt collar made 
the sharp nose and chin, something else made the 
hump on the back, and so on. 

But it vexed him, just the same, to have the 
old man there on the wall, so he said again, 
quite sharply: 

“I tell you to go away, for I don’t want you 
on my wall!” 



The Jolly Old Shadow-Man laughed merrily. 
“Don’t be so cross about it,” he chuckled. 
“I don’t like cross folks. Indeed, I’d rather meet 
a big yellow tiger face to face than a Cross Person, 
for you can always coax a tiger to smile if you 
have your wits about you.” 

The Boy wondered if The Jolly Old Shadow 
Man meant him when he spoke of cross folks. 
Maybe he did, for the Boy really had been cross. 


Finally The Jolly Old Shadow-Man spoke 
again, and said: “How would you like to go on 
a little journey?” 

“Where?” asked the Boy. 

“Oh, down a Long Road,” answered The 
Jolly Old Shadow-Man. 

“How will I get there?” asked the Boy. 

“Well, all you have to do is to blow out your 
candle, and I’ll attend to the rest,” said The 
Jolly Old Shadow-Man. 


Out went the candle. All was very quiet for 
a long time. 

Then the next thing that happened the Boy 
was not in bed, but standing in the middle of a 
Road which looked as if it might go on and on 
forever, over the hills and far away. 

“My!” gasped the Boy in amazement, when 
he found himself standing in the Road. Then 
he looked this way and that. 

“Where’s The Jolly Old Shadow-Man?” he 
asked aloud. No answer came from anywhere. 
Then he felt himself growing cross, for he didn’t 
think it quite fair for the Jolly Old Shadow-Man 
to trick him this way and desert him on this long, 
strange Road. He scowled and pouted as he 
walked along, scuffling up the dust and muttering 
to himself. 



“What’s the matter anyway?” asked a cracky 
voice suddenly. 

The Boy stopped. It was old Mrs. Owl, 
talking from where she sat on a bush by the 
Roadside. 


“Why,” answered the Boy, “The Jolly Old 
Shadow-Man played a trick on me, and — ” 

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said old Mrs. Owl, 
not waiting to hear the rest of the story. “A 
worse trick than that was played on me. I always 
expected to be Sarah Swan, dressed in elegant 
white feathers and floating on a lily pond, and 
here I am, nothing but a common old owl!” 

She went on whining and complaining, but 
the Boy just felt that he couldn’t endure her 
grumbling talk any longer. He put his fingers 
into his ears and started to run from her for he 
wanted to get as far away from the sound of her 
unpleasant voice as possible, and small w'onder 
for nothing is as disagreeable as a grumbler. 

After a while he came to a little puddle. He 
stopped and threw in a stone. 



“What are you so spiteful about?” asked two 
funny voices at once; and there sat Freddy Frog 
and Tom Turtle on the edge of the puddle. 


“Why,” answered the Boy, “The Jolly Old 
Shadow-Man played a trick on me and — ” 

“Oh, that’s nothing,” sneered Freddy Frog, 
not waiting to hear the rest of the story, “life 
is nothing but tricks. I intended to be an ele- 
phant, and here I am, nothing but a frog in a 
miserable little mud puddle.” 

“It’s good enough for you,” spoke up Tom 
Turtle. “If I can stand it you can, for I ought 
to have been a whale with the broad ocean for 
my home instead of a puddle.” 



Then Freddy Frog and Tom Turtle began to 
quarrel and quarrel as to whether it was worse 
not to be an elephant, when you wanted to be an 
elephant and not a frog, or not to be a whale, 
when you wanted to be a whale and not a turtle. 
They made an ugly noise and fuss about it, and 
were very rude and disagreeable. It was not at 
all nice to hear them, so again the Boy put his 
fingers into his ears and started to run away. 

But he stopped when he spied Little Lizzie 
Lizard in the weeds by the roadside. As every- 
one knows Little Lizzie is very ugly indeed, 
though of course she cannot help that. The Boy 
gave her a rude push with his foot. 


“Stop, stop!” she shrieked, “Haven’t you 
any manners at all? I dare say that you are a 
rude Boy and stick your tongue out at people.” 




“My,” thought the Boy, as he hurried away, 
“I wonder if she knows how I treated the cook 
at Grandmother’s house.” He felt ashamed to 
think of it. 

But he went on, and finally far down the 
Road he spied an old man with two dogs. It 
was Old Man Grouch and his two dogs — Snap 
and Snarl. Of course the Boy did not know this, 
so he ran very fast indeed in order to catch up 
with them, thinking that they might be pleasant 
companions. 

“Good morning,” he called, in a pleasant 
voice. “I’m very glad to see you, for everyone 
else around here is cross and grumpy and — ” 
But he never finished for Snap and Snarl began 
to rumble and grumble and growl, and bite at 
his heels and tear his clothes. 




“Good morning,” he called 
in a pleasant voice. 


“Oh, please, please call your dogs away,” 
cried the Boy. 

“Huh, serves you right,” said Old Man 
Grouch. “You had no business to say ‘Good 
morning’ to us.” 

“Why, was that wrong?” asked the Boy. 
He’d never met anybody like this before! 

Old Man Grouch did not answer, only grunt- 
ed, and the dogs only growled. 

There was no use trying to be pleasant, foi 
Old Man Grouch would not talk or laugh and 
the dogs were ready to bite, so the Boy started 
away at a run. Indeed, he never ran so fast, for 
he felt that he must get away from there at once. 

On he ran. At last he came to a gate which 
opened in a hedge. A child about his own size 
leaned on the gate. 


"Why, hello,” said the Boy, for he thought 
he had found a new playmate. 

“Stop, stop!” bawled the Child, in an angry 
tone. “I don’t want you to say ‘Hello’ to me. 
I don’t want you to say anything to me. You 
took my little cart, I know you did !” 

Whereupon iTI^began to call names and 
make faces and throw stones at the Boy. This 
was a great surprise, of course, for the Boy had 
never seen Little Cross Patch before, and he 
couldn’t understand why anyone should feel that 
way toward him. He would have been glad to 
help hunt the little cart if Little Cross Patch had 
asked him. But now he put his fingers into his 
ears again, and ran on down the Road instead. 

Tap-tap-tap, came a funny little sound. A bent 
old woman was coming. One glance and the Boy 



knew that her name was Mrs. Fret. He knew it 
because her face was all twisted and puckered 
with worry-wrinkles. She beckoned to him, and 
when he stood close beside her she told him all 
about the cricks in her back, and the frog in her 
throat, and the mistakes that her neighbors 
made, and how bad the weather had been where 
she lived, and so on. Then, when she came to the 
end she went tap-tapping off down the road. 
My, but he was glad when she was gone. 



“I want to go back to Grandmother’s house,” 
said the Boy to himself. He was not having a 
very nice time on this journey and he walked 
miles and miles until he came to a dear little, 
neat little cottage. There were pretty, fluttering 
white curtains in the windows and flowers grew 






by the walls. A fine smell of warm cookies 
came out through the windows and everything 
seemed pleasant and cheery. 

There was a cow nibbling clover in the yard — 
and, if you’ll believe it, it was a checkered cow! 
Yes, it was/ 

The Boy looked at the cow for a long time. 
Then he laughed and laughed and laughed till 
his sides ached. 






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“Are you laughing at Checkers?” asked a nice, 
kind voice. 

The Boy looked toward the doorway, and 
there stood a girl with an upturned nose, red 
hair and many, many freckles. Then the Boy 
laughed again. 

“Aren’t we funny?” said the Girl, smiling. 
“Travelers always laugh when they see us, and 
we’re glad to have them. It makes us happy to 
know we amuse them. But come in,” she added, 
hospitably, leading him into the dear little, 
neat little cottage, “come in and get acquainted. 
My name is Plain Jane, and this is Checkers, my 
cow.” 

She led the Boy, who was tired and hungry, 
into the cottage, and urged him to eat the plateful 
of warm cookies which she set before him. 


“Now, wouldn’t you like to hear all about 
us?” she asked, as the Boy tasted the cookies. 

And all the boy could do was to nod his 
head because he was eating cookies rather fast. 

“Well,” said Plain Jane, “the first thing that 
I can remember was when the little boys began 
to hoot at me and call me Plain Jane, because my 
face was not pretty and my hair was red. Then 
a good and wise woman told me that nothing 
mattered, if I had a kind heart and pleasant 
manners. I have always remembered her words 
and Pm happy from morning till night, and 
I help to make others happy. Many travelers 
come my way, glad of a kind word and a little 
rest here in my cottage.” 

“And please tell about your checkered Cow, 
too,” said the Boy, still eating warm cookies. 


“Well,” said Plain Jane, “Checkers used to be 
called the ‘Good Natured Cow’ before she got 
her fancy coat, and that was because she was so 
sweet tempered and always ready to do anyone 
a favor.” 

“Maybe you don’t know it, but zebras and 
giraffes and leopards and speckled dogs and 


striped cats all get their coats painted on them 
by the Painting Fairies. Well, once these Paint- 
ing Fairies grew tired of always making striped 
and speckled coats, and said: 'let’s make a check- 
ered coat.’ But none of the animals wanted a 
checkered coat. The Fairies insisted and were 
about to lose their little tempers when the Good 
Natured Cow, who liked to keep the peace, walked 
up and said they could make her a checkered 
coat, if they chose. 




“The Fairies were delighted, and began at 
once with their black and white paint. Of course, 
when she was finished the Good Natured Cow 
was a strange sight. All the animals and even 
the Painting Fairies nearly hurt themselves laugh- 
ing. But instead of this making Checkers cross 
it seemed to please her and she said: ‘Now I 
am of some use in the world if I can make people 
laugh.' And so that is the strange story of my 
cow, the only one of her kind in the world,” 
Plain Jane finished proudly. 

The Boy thought it was a fine story and never 
would he forget Plain Jane and Checkers, who 
always made the best of everything and were 
never, never cross. 

And he decided that he liked red-headed girls 
with turned-up noses and freckles like Plain 


Jane’s, and as for cows — none were as handsome 
as Checkers! 

Then Plain Jane and the Boy went out into 
the neat little garden and stood by the gate 
looking down the Long Road. 

“I guess I had better go home,” said the 
Boy, after a time, “only I don’t know how.” 

“Oh, Checkers will know,” said Plain Jane. 
“Checkers knows almost everything.” 

“Checkers,” she called, pleasantly, “will you 
please show the little Boy how to find his way 
back to his Grandmother’s house?” 

“Certainly,” said the genial Checkers. “Get 
on my back, and we will be there almost before 
you know it.” 

So Plain Jane lifted the Boy up and fixed 
him comfortably in place. Then she shook hands, 



0 


said goodbye, and begged him to come back to 
her little cottage again some day. 

“I will, I will,” cried the Boy, and he waved 
his hand to her as he and Checkers went through 
the gate. 


Down the Road They started. Checkers be- 
gan to trot, then she cantered, then she galloped, 
then she seemed almost to fly, she went so fast. 




Indeed, her speed was such that the Boy couldn’t 
see anything clearly, though they passed by 
many things. And sure enough, just as she had 
promised him, there he was, before he knew it, 
back in the guest room of his Grandmother’s 
big house. 


And, of course, he was back from the journey 
which The Jolly Shadow-Man had tricked him 
into taking, and you can imagine how much 
better and happier he was than when he started. 
It’s lots easier to whine and fuss and grumble 
oneself than to like other people who do it. 
The Boy did quite a little thinking before he 
went to sleep. 

Next morning, at breakfast, he told his 
Grandmother all about his adventure. His 
Grandmother didn’t say much, but the Boy 
knew what she must be thinking. So he told her 
that he didn’t ever want to be even one little tiny 
bit like Freddy Frog or Tom Turtle or Old Man 
Grouch or Mrs. Fret or Little Cross Patch. 
But he did hope — and here his Grandmother 
smiled so encouragingly at him! — that some day 


he could be nice and kind and jolly like Plain 
Jane and Checkers, who always made the best 
of everything and were never, never cross. 




Here’s a sunny little shelf 
For your sunny little self: 
“Sunny Books” for every one, 
Full of happiness and fun. 


SUNNY RHYMES FOR HAPPY CHILDREN 

Olive Beaupre Miller 

JUST FOR YOU Pauline Croll 

TALES OF LITTLE CATS Carrie Jacobs-Bond 

THE LITTLE RED BALLOON Caroline Hof man 

THE WISE GRAY CAT Caroline Hofman 

THE PRINCESS FINDS A PLAYMATE Caroline Hofman 




THE FUNNY LITTLE BOOK 
PEEPS 

THE GIGGLEQUICKS 
MYSELF AND I 
SUNNY BUNNY 
COME PLAY WITH ME 
LITTLE SUNNY STORIES 
THE LOVELY GARDEN 
LITTLE BABS 
BILLY BUNNY’S FORTUNE 
.THE LITTLE BROWN BEAR 
THE BAM BAM CLOCK 
THE JOLLY OLD SHADOW MAN 
OVER THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 


Johnny Gruelle 
Nancy Cox-McCormack 
Miriam Clark Potter 
Helen Van Valkenburgh 
Nina Wilcox Putnam 
Olive Beaupre Miller 
Johnny Gruelle 
Fairmont Snyder 
George Mitchell 
Elizabeth Gordon 
Johnny Gruelle 
J. P. McEvoy 
Gertrude A. Kay 
Louise Marshall Haynes 


Additional titles are in preparation 


P. F. VOLLAND COMPANY 

NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 



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VOLLAMD 

“SUAJAiy^BOOK” 

SERIES 


